Blue Number 01
by Zellarest
Summary: Molly loses her seat at the library, much to her chagrin. On the way to find another seat, Molly tripped and dropped most of her things onto the floor. Including her sketchbook. When Roxanne comes along and discovers her sketchbook, Molly expects her to hate her and never want to see her again. Instead, she invites her to a party. What. / Moxanne for Uni!


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Summary: Molly loses her seat at the library, much to her chagrin. On the way to find another seat, Molly tripped and dropped most of her things onto the floor. Including her sketchbook. When Roxanne comes along and discovers her sketchbook, Molly expects her to hate her and never want to see her again. Instead, she invites her to a party. What.

Now she needs to find a dress, and find out how to be sexy.

Warnings: Femslash, cousincest, Molly/Roxanne.

Words: 2759

Notes: Huge thanks and much love to Muffin, who was the first person to look over this a long, long time ago.

For the beauteous birthday girl, Uni, who deserves all the hugs and happiness in the world! Happy birthday love! Hope you enjoy.

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Trying her utmost not to let the fury boiling up inside show onto her face, she diverted her eyes from the repugnant arses in her seat. Having walked away for a mere moment to retrieve books for her Astronomy assignment, she had come back with the feeling of savage rage washing over her for the first time in her life. Thoughts so cruel hadn't a place in her mind before that moment when she spotted them writhing all over the wooden working table, emitting the most disturbing slurping sounds she'd ever heard. Arms laden with musty manuscripts, hardbacks with thick spines that were difficult to keep a hold on, scrolls that looked much too fragile to handle carelessly, and newspaper publications on astronomical discoveries in the last century, she caught sight of her satchel. It looked as though it had been discarded onto the ground, its contents scattered across the floor. Quickly placing her burden onto a considerably empty cart, she knelt down to clear the walking area covered in her things. Scooping up papers drowned in her abysmal handwriting, plucking up dull-tipped pencils and feathery quills, stowing ink wells in those deep pockets that she rarely used, and stuffing paperbacked books into the worn bag, she pushed sweat-logged strands of hair from her forehead. By the end of it, she wished she had just levitated them into the bag.

Unable to keep the scowl off of her face, she gave up trying. The seat had been so wonderful, she had scarcely been able to believe her luck. If she leaned back in the chair ever so slightly, letting the window frame support the chair on its two back legs, the book balanced in her lap would be positioned just right so that it was bathed in the soft white light from the slowly lowering sun. It had been the best reading site Molly could ask for. But now it was ruined, and she hadn't the courage or vengeful spirit to stand up to the ones responsible, as per the usual.

Standing and brushing off the dusty knees of her jeans, she glanced around. No one had given mind to the clumsy twig of a girl gathering her things, to her surprise. By now she had expected taunts worthy of a few brain cells, but no one had risen to the challenge, not even Trudy—the local bully who was half human girl half irate male rhinoceros.

While adjusting her clunky glasses, Molly noticed a chestnut-leather covered book secured with a thick strap lying open on the floor. In place of a buckle, there was a silver crest of a badger. Hardly thinking about the consequences, she practically lunged for the book onto her hands and knees. Before her fingers could scarcely brush the pages, it was scooped up by a pair of warm-skinned hands. As quick as a whip she landed hard on her chin and bit down hard on her tongue. She let out a sharp yelp, her eyes watering at the pain. Trying to blink back the salty water obscuring her vision, she managed to make out a pair of leathery black boots. They were decorated with metallic studs on the toes that shone brightly. Molly wondered for a moment how much that went against school code protocol before she realized who they belonged to.

She didn't have to look up to identify the beholder. Who else wore studded black boots in a library? Only one Roxanne Weasley.

As if she knew what the floored Hufflepuff was thinking, Roxanne gained a coy smile. "What's this, now?" she inquired. Examining the thick booklet, she turned it around in her hand and grinned at the pictures spread across the yellowed pages.

Clutching the bookshelf, Molly hefted herself up off of the ground. A wave of guilt washed over her as she made no effort to stop her eyes from gliding over the brilliantly toned figure of Roxanne's. Her years of vigorous training had done her nothing but good, concerning her body. Her thighs caused her shorts to ride up slightly in a way Molly's father would have her life for. Denim jacket torn in numerous places. Her hand rested on her hip while her high ponytail swung slightly as she breathed. Molly's eyes finally stopped at her lips, lingering hopelessly for a moment thick with tension. She quickly diverted her gaze, banishing ever last idea almost as quickly as they had come.

She noticed all the eyes rested on Roxanne. They were focused on her with an intensity that made her increasingly uncomfortable, as though they were trying to burn a hole through her camisole.

Though familiar with feelings of diffidence around someone as comely as Roxanne, she wasn't as indifferent to them as one would expect. Her bony fingers still moved to tuck those loose strands away from her face, tickling her ear in the process. Her previously composed features twitched in response. The quickness with which she rearranged her mouth into a slight smile and relaxed her scrunched eyebrows and narrowed eyes relaxed into something resembling normalcy was that of a machine in desperate need of an oiling, but she managed it nonetheless. As a result, her expression was one of polite tolerance, as though she were unfazed by the impromptu inspection of her most coveted possessions. When really she was keen to snatch it right out of her hands. Or hide. Hiding sounded nice too.

Taking a slow, measured swallow, Molly made to answer her as calmly as she could manage. "It's nothing... really, just a few drawings." Conveniently, she neglected to mention that most of them were of her rather attractive, dark-haired, doe-eyed cousin that stood before her—in the flesh. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like it back—please." Now she was close to begging, so much that her knees trembled under the weight of her terror.

Roxanne held the book out of the shorter girl's reach and peered up at the pages. "Oh, oh?" she taunted. "Now, what could be in here that you wouldn't want to show little ole' me?"

Quickly abandoning all pretense, the despair crept into Molly's voice. "Please, Rox—don't—" The murmurs floating in the dusty air were louder than her voice. She strained every muscle at her disposal to reach the impossible height at which the book was being held at.

The taller girl discarded her words and would have been ignoring her almost entirely if not for her elbow blocking the more vertically challenged girl's efforts. With a lazy flick she turned the page on a crude sketch of a feather quill.

Within a second, the arm parrying her ineffectual attempts went slack; her lips parting slowly; her eyes lacking their previously mischievous glow, fixated on the page with obvious disbelief.

Molly, sensing her slack efforts, halted her struggles to look up at her. The look of shock was all too familiar. Molly had imagined it much too frequently for this moment. However she pictured it, she had never imagined the awful ache that seized her, chiefly in the cavity in her chest. Taking a step back, ready to bolt, she gulped in preparation for the excuse to come.

Roxanne's watery gaze caused a hitch in her throat. Her eyes were brimming with tears. With two quick swipes of her hand she attempted to ward them off, but they fell regardless. Her voice rose and fell in odd places as she croaked, "Molly..."

The laugh escaped unwarranted, brief but resonant in the mass of whispers. "I know," she whispered, bitter with herself more than Roxanne. "I'll leave you be, if that's how you'll have it." She turned away from her, striding towards the arched entryway of the library.

Unlike Roxanne, she refused to let the tears rise at all, her last wish to have everyone see her cry. She grit her teeth, blinking furiously as her eyebrows knit together, sending the whispering cowards a hard glare as she went. Most eyes widened, others scoffing with renewed distaste.

The thuds that reverberated throughout the dusty air were unmistakable as leather boots against hardwood. Then there was a hand clutching her shoulder, causing her to stop in her tracks. She shrugged it off with a jerk of her shoulder, turning most begrudgingly, to face her.

The wounded look that crossed Roxanne's face wasn't missed, not in the slightest. Still, she managed to sound incredulous as she said, "Wait—what are you talking about?" She brandished the sketchbook, whose lock glinted in the falling sun alongside her radiant, warm skin. "I think they're bloody beautiful! Molly, you're... you're brilliant."

There wasn't a single word that came to Molly in the tense moments that followed the statement. Her mouth merely opened and closed, causing her to resemble that of a fish.

Though the book had been given to her by her father, with explicit instructions to use it "only for academic purposes, young lady," and "none of those doodles, you hear me?" She knew full well her father wouldn't approve of her drawings. With the air of danger scarcely absent during his presence, she always wondered how he would react if he knew of them—specifically the far too detailed depictions of her bonny cousin. Especially given the magnitude of them, with pages upon pages of sketches, charcoal drawings, even full-color representations of Roxanne and her rampant attractiveness.

She started as she came face to face with said Roxanne. Her gaze was hard and piercing, like a million daggers pointed for her pupils. It made Molly uncomfortable to be the one it was focused on.

A tiny and uncertain voice escaped her, hardly recognizable as her own, "They're not that good."

Roxanne abruptly took her forearm and dragged her into the History of Magic section, where not a soul was to be seen. They stopped in the middle of the walkway between two bookshelves. Next to them was a whirring contraption on the ledge of the window that she couldn't name, surrounded by hundreds of dusty spines on each side. They were sufficiently hidden from anyone who would care to see them.

Roxanne turned on her. Her hard stare remained unwavering. "Molly Anne Weasley, don't you dare tell me that these are anything less than masterpieces. They're..." In the abrupt halt of her speech, Molly glanced up to see the bright, warm eyes glimmering as she fruitlessly attempted to blink back the rising tears. "Oh, Molly… they're gorgeous. Why have you never shown anyone?" she demanded, eyes blazing.

With all her heart Molly wished that she could be honest with her for once. That she could buck up and tell her why. Why she never parted with the thing. Why it came to breakfast, to class, to lunch, to dinner, and finally to bed every day until summer arrived, when the book would accompany her home on the train. Why she spent excessive amounts of time locked away in musty old classrooms, deserted corridors, under the birch tree, and sometimes Moaning Myrtle's bathroom in her most desperate of times. Why, when her own brother asked why it was so important to her, she never swayed from the default answer, "Because father gave it to me."

Within seconds, she would trade her cowardice in these kind of situations for some goddamned courage. Then she could just say "because then they all would know that I'm a nutter." But she didn't possess a confident bone in her body, so she returned to the open arms of her excuses, her 'get out of jail free cards,' if you will.

Her voice trembled slightly as she said, "Can we just... not tell anyone? It would almost certainly reach father within days." Her tone suggested that they weren't exactly reliable. Because they weren't. "I don't want him to think I'm straying from my studies," she added lamely.

Roxanne's eyes narrowed sharply as her lower lip jutted out, her eyebrows scrunched together. Aware of the fact that she was analyzing her every movement, facial and otherwise, she avoided her gaze by acting as though there were a smudge on her glasses. When reaching towards the glasses with a part of her shirt, she missed the lenses, knocking the glasses from her hold and onto the floor with a clatter. She bent down to retrieve them, face a lousy pink.

"All right, mousy." she surrendered, unable to find doubt in her words though frowning at her evidently lackluster acting skills. "Don't you worry, it's our... little secret." The frown was replaced with a smug smirk as she nudged Molly's shoulder with her own while she was repositioning her glasses on her face.

Molly chuckled uneasily, taking the sketchbook and stuffing it into the bag. She fastened the brass clasps on the front of the bag, confirming their unshakeable hold with a resolute tug.

When she looked up she was met with the sight of Roxanne's back as she was strutting—actually strutting like some kind of muggle supermodel-away down the aisles of bookshelves. Lugging the bag onto her shoulder, Molly made haste to follow her. Dismissing the overt stares from those gawking almost obnoxiously, those of which who were mostly of the male body focused primarily on Roxanne and her swaying hips, Molly caught up to her near the entrance. Madam Pince—or "Irate Irma", as they called her—was rearranging mistakenly ordered books on the shelves. A fiery gaze burned into their backs. Molly ignored it easily.

"Wait up, fire pants!" she puffed, certain that she was beginning to sweat. She came to a halt at the top of the steps, an arm's length from Roxanne. Hunched over with her hands on her knees and trying to catch her breath.

Roxanne suddenly made this noise that might've been a laugh; it sounded like a mixture of a chuckle and a violent snort. It was so unlike her that Molly straightened up in alarm, looking to locate the source of the sound. Upon further inspection, she decided she very much liked the way it sounded; a little rough, like Roxanne, but also somewhat musical.

"You know what, hot cakes?" she asked while sliding her arm around her waist. Molly shook her head in response, curious as to what she was on about. "I wasn't sure if you'd be up to it—I'm still not—but... you wanna go to a party?"

Molly barely managed a word with stuttering what with her severe lack of tact. "A—a party? With y—you?" Roxanne nodded like that should have been obvious. Molly face pinked. Her cheeks were as red-hot as a balefire. She wished more than anything that she could disappear in that moment.

"So, what's it going to be, short stuff?" she asked impatiently.

"Of—of course I will, Roxy," she stumbled trying to breathe past her constricted airways.

Roxanne grinned in an almost maniacal manner. "Fantastic! You'll wear that gorgeous blue number, won't you?" she asked, gazing at her with big, pleading eyes. They suddenly became clouded with uncertainty. "It still fits, right?" Her lower lip jutted out and her eyebrows scrunched together in her worry.

She bit hers for the same reason, albeit with different motives. "Oh, yes," she assured her rather dubiously.

Roxanne must have detected it. "Well, if it doesn't...just borrow one of Rosie's. I'm sure she won't mind," she encouraged. "Just look sexy, okay?" She winked and smiled coyly.

Something almost unidentifiable rose from the back of her throat; a bizarre cross between a pathetic whimper and a hoarse "Uh huh," as she nodded her head.

"Meet me at the statue of Merlin, tonight, eight sharp," she instructed.

Molly thought she knew where that was. Though checking with Albus or the twins to make sure wasn't out of the question, either. "S—sure."

With a swift peck on the cheek—which left the region burning a furious scarlet—and a grateful "Thanks, mousy." Roxanne strode off down the corridor without another word, just a grin across her lips. Molly watched her go, frozen in her place, until the last dark ringlet of hair vanished around the corner.

In her entire existence upon the Earth, Molly felt both joyously delighted and despairingly hopeless at the same time. The former because Roxanne had just bloody kissed her; the latter because she hadn't an idea of how to look even remotely _sexy_. She wasn't sexy. By any means.

There was only one option, clearly. She would have to go to Rose.


End file.
